Lord Of Winterfell
by frozenangel1988
Summary: Jon was no longer Jon Snow. He was Jon Stark. Lord of Winterfell. Post-Storm of Swords AU. (On hiatus)
1. Chapter 1

AN: DON'T READ IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THROUGH STORM OF SWORDS!

SPOILERS!

So, I am in love with the character of Jon Snow. I am currently on A Feast For Crows and am saddened by the lack of Jon so I decided to vent by writing a fic as if he did accept Stannis's offer and had not stayed at The Wall. This is only a short chapter, but let me know what you think.

Lord of Winterfell

Chapter 1

Jon sighed as he pulled up his horse on the outskirts of Winterfell. Winterfell. His childhood home. The home that had been burned. How he was to rebuild it, he did not yet know. He was just happy to be back.

Jon was no longer Jon Snow. He was Jon Stark now, by royal decree from King Stannis. Not only was he legitimatized, but he was also wed. To Val, the sister of Mance Rayder's woman Dalla. He could feel that it would take him quite a while to love Val as a man should love his wife, due to the freshness of Ygritte's death still tingling in his brain. He was sure though that he would love the child. He would raise the boy as his own. He would not be like Catelyn Stark. He would love the boy like he came from his own loins.

Winterfell was his.

Jon could still not believe it. All of his siblings were either dead or lost. Robb was killed by the Freys. Bran and Rickon by Theon Greyjoy. Arya hadn't been heard from since their father's death. Sansa had fled King's Landing and was being hunted on suspicion of Joffery's death. And here Jon was. In Winterfell. The only "Stark" left.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you to all that read the first chapter, favorited/followed, and reviewed. Eek. So awesome. So, few things to clear up from the reviews. The child is Mance Rayder's and Dalla's, but is being raised by Jon and Val since Dalla is dead and Mance is imprisoned. Also, I'm not sure exactly WHERE I'm going to be going with this, but updates may be slow since I'm both reading the books (currently A Feast For Crows, which I'm not liking too much since there's no Jon or Dany), writing my own book and juggling my Lit classes. But, here goes Chapter 2.

Chapter 2

Melisandre was driving Jon up a wall and back down again, a wall as high as the Wall. The woman would not shut up about the Lord of Light and how he saw it fit to purify Winterfell through fire. It was shit, in Jon's opinion. No god burned his home. It was that turncloak Theon.

Turncloak.

The thought made him cringe. Pyp and Dollorus Edd and even Sam called Jon a turncloak when he turned down the position as Lord Commander. It was not as if they didn't understand his desire to go home, Jon mused, but it was the slight edge of jealous that peppered his now former brothers' voices. They could not return home. The Wall would forever be their home.

Jon ran his ungloved sword hand over his direwolf's fur. Ghost's fur always tickled his burnt hand, gave it a pleasant sensation. Ghost was face deep in his latest kill which he has brought to the floor of Jon's tent. Melisandre was seated across the meager table that was set up inside the almost as meager tent. Stale bread and hard cheese occupied the table along with Jon's untouched wineglass. The woman in red nursed her own wineglass with a sly smile inching her way up on her red lips. A smile Jon had begun to abhor.

"Before you repair the walls, milord Stark, we need to set to cleaning Winterfell of the Old Gods and offer it up as a purified offering to the Lord of Light." Her voice was strong, stronger than Jon would have liked. She reminded him of a more suave version of Catelyn Stark. He would probably have preferred his stepmother to this priestess.

"No. First we must attend to restoring Winterfell to it's glory then we will have the burning as a celebration of it's restoration in the favor of the Lord of Light." Lord of Light. Such shit. The Old Gods will always be in Jon's heart. They were the Gods of his father. The Starks. The Nightswatch.

"You already speak as a wise leader, milord. As you wish." The glint in Melisandre's eyes returned and she reached her hand to stroke Ghost, but the direwolf growled. If the priestess was scared, she showed no sign.

"Yes, as I wish. No need to make a monumental burning when there aren't many people around to witness such a brash act. I intend to repopulate Winterfell, with both kinds of Northerners, Wildlings and the people that have been under Stark protection for as long as my house has existed."

"Wise indeed. So, tell me, how fairs your union with Lady Val?"

Val. Oh Val. How he did not desire the beautiful blonde Wildling. Their wedding was a bare one. Only attended by King Stannis and officiated by Melisandre herself. It was a dull affair, in Jon's opinion. Too much talk of fire and light and darkness. Jon had zoned out most of the service. He imagined that the warm hand that was encircled around his burnt one was that of Ygritte's, not Val. The bedding had been strange as well. His mind was on Ygritte still, expecting to hear her voice moan his name, yell "You know nothing, Jon Snow." Instead, he got Val's deep voice screaming "Lord Stark! More!" over and over, her nails digging into his back and pulling at his hair with such force to make his eyes water. It was enough to drive him mad. His conscience may not have liked it, but his body liked it enough to do it's duty.

"It fairs fine. She doesn't hate me."

"I heard her thanking you the other night, for getting her south of the Wall. She wouldn't hate you. You're her savior. Without you, I might have burned her as an example, like I intend to do with Mance Rayder."

"Burning Mance Rayder? Are you mad? Why would you do such a thing?" Jon stopped caressing Ghost. The animal noticed the change in his master's demeanor.

"Because I need a sacrifice of royal blood to aid in King Stannis's path to the Iron Throne. Mance Rayder had the misfortune of claiming himself as a royal. I would prefer blood of the Lannister bastards, but they are too far away. I do have another option though."

"Who?"

"You, milord."

"Me?" Ghost was one his feet as Jon whispered his disbelief.

"Your half brother was also a king. You have royal blood in you."

"I am Lord of Winterfell. You cannot burn me alive." He could still feel the fire that has touched his skin when he killed in Lord Commander's tower.

"No, you are wrong, Lord Stark. I can burn you. Anyone can be burned. You are protected now by King Stannis, but I know what is in your heart. You must cast out the Gods of your father, otherwise, Stannis may not be able to protect you for long. He does not like turncloaks and you just proved yourself a turncloak to your brothers. You better not be a turncloak to the Lord of Light. It may be your end."

Jon froze. His eyes locked with the eyes of the priestess. He could see small flames in her pupils. A chill ran through his body, a chill not caused by the climate. Jon picked up his untouched wineglass and drained it.

Fuck. What did he get himself into?


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Hey everyone. Not much action in this chapter, but a bit of a set up. Let me know your opinion on which way you'd prefer me to steer this. I have a bit of a plan, but if my readers are happier with a certain course, then so be it. Enjoy Chapter 3. Read, Review, and thank you! -Brittanie

AN: So, it was brought to my attention that I made a mistake. Joffery is dead. Tommen is king. Thanks to Oberon Sexton for pointing that out. Also, I am keeping Tyrion as Hand.

Chapter 3

It had been two months since Jon Snow arrived back in Winterfell as Lord Jon Stark. The repairs had come along quite nicely once a band of Wildings arrived to help with the manpower. While the holdfast did not look exactly like it did before Theon put the it to the torch, no one could deny the feeling of grandeur that pervaded the air.

The walls were a light gray again, lending no thought to their former charred state. Bricks were replaced and reinforced. Banners were sewn anew and furniture remade and strengthened. The biggest improvement was that of the new main gate. Behind the old, rebuilt gate, Jon had instructed the masons to build another wall with second gate made of steel encased by wood. They called it the false gate in jape, but what it was really was reassurance.

In addition to all of the structural improvements, a monument was ordered in remembrance of his father, Lady Catelyn, Robb, Bran, and Rickon, along with the names of all the citizens of Winterfell that had died in the burning. A pang shot through Jon's heart as he ran his fingers over the uncarved spot he had left open if news of his half sisters' deaths was brought to him.

The new maester of Winterfell had arrived the night before, a young blonde man the had seen a few more name days than Jon. Maester Sventin brought with him a new set of ravens, along with books to replace those that had been lost.

Today was the day the people would move back into Winterfell and Jon would have to take up residence in the master bedroom with Val. It felt like betrayal to Jon. To take root in his father's chambers with a Wildling woman and a boy not of Stark blood, but Jon did not voice his opinion to anyone, especially not Melisandre.

Melisandre had overseen the construction of a pyre pit on the outskirts of Winterfell. To her, the holdfast needed a permanent place where residents could purify and pray and where Jon could send the criminal to be punished. Baptism by fire, she called it. It was just as absurd in Jon's mind as the Drowned God of the Iron Islands.

He gripped Longclaw as Jon ascended the newly forged stone steps to the balcony the oversaw the training yard. He was met with flashbacks of him and Robb being scolded by Ser Rodrick for treating their swords like toys and not like instruments of death. He remembered him and Robb attempting to teach Bran archery, with their father and Lady Catelyn looking on. He remembered Sansa doing needlepoint and sending biting remarks in Jon's directions and Arya begging to be included in the boy's play. All the memories seemed to belong to another person. A bastard.

"Lord Stark?" Jon turned around to be met with Maester Sventin holding a piece of paper in his thin fingers.

"Yes?"

"A letter, milord, from Kings Landing." Sventin held it out to Jon. The seal was a crimson red, freshly broken, pressed onto a thick parchment. The contents made him shutter as he read it.

"Dear Jon Snow,

It has come to the attention of the Small Council that you have taken up residence in Winterfell under the name of Jon Stark. A bastard has no claim over lands unless legitimized by royal decree.

Stannis Baratheon is not the true king nor will he ever be.

You are to report to King's Landing within a month to swear fealty to King Tommen Baratheon, the true King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

If you do so, you will receive Winterfell as Jon Stark and we shall provide you with a noble wife, not the Wildling Stannis Baratheon has forced upon you, along with the placement of citizens of King's Landing to aid in Winterfell's repopulation.

If you refuse, an detachment of the newly formed Royal Army will march upon Winterfell by the end of two months.

Be wise and heed our orders.

Signed,

The Hand of the King, Tyrion Lannister and Cersei Lannister, Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms."


End file.
